The Werewolf
An upcoming story by John Breasly. Prologue - Tallinn, 1714 Snow falls heavily in the city of Tallinn. Normally asleep in the darkness, the citizens are strangely out of bed, and gathered together in a rather large crowd. Even more odd are the heavy muskets the men carry with them. Strange shouting confuses the young boy, holding loosely to his mother's hand. The flames within the lanterns dance majestically in the blizzard. The small boy finds himself mesmerized by the eloquent flickering. A sudden roar breaks his concentration. His mother grips his hands tightly. The mayor in the center of the town square screams about something inside the town. The boy looks towards his father, at the edge of the throng. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder being poured into muskets. Barricades are quickly rolled into place, aimed down a dimly lit streets. The men now wait as the howling gets closer. Bounding out of the dark comes no evil creature, but rather a beautiful woman. Or she would have been, if half of her face had not been missing. She ran into the square, screaming. Before the feet of the mayor she falls, bleeding heavily. He touches her neck and rises solemnly. High pitch screaming suddenly pierces the silence. A large, humanoid figure stands upon the roof of a building overlooking the barricade. It jumps down into the light, tackling someone and promptly biting out his throat. The boy mesmerized by the lanterns now screams with the rest of the crowd. As the creature's long, hairy snout rips through the members of the crowd, the boy finds himself recalling stories his mother had told him. Great wolf-like creatures, who are born men but transform in the moonlight. The thought is very perplexing before he returns to reality to find himself running down a darkly lit street with his mother, being followed by the wolf-man. It lunges, and tackles the woman, leaving the boy in the snow to the side. It, just as before, reaches for the throat and bites. The dark eyes then turn on the boy. It bounds towards him as he kicks. He feels a sharp pain in his leg before the wolf-man is knocked away. The men of the town stand over him, beating the creature with the butts of their muskets. Loud shots echo as silver balls rip through the creature's skull. Suddenly, silence. The hair of the monster sheds, and it's muscles shrink. A naked man is lying in the snow, bleeding in far too many places. His body is hoisted away. The boy, shaken and scared, attempts to stand before grabbed by the men of the village, who seem to be angry about his leg. By the next morning, his father and he are forced to leave Tallinn by way of horse. His father seems to be crying, but it doesn't seem like it is for the same reason as his son. Chapter I - Haunting of the Woods, 1724 I stumbled from the woods, wiping the sweat from my brow. I knew I would have to find my way to the shelter before light, or I would surely be spotted. And it would be simply embarrassing to be naked in front of the baker's daughter. As I left the treeline, I noticed something of an odd shape fairly far off. I addressed it as a scarecrow, but when I looked back, it was gone. I walked a bit more, before coming across a second of the strange scarecrows. This time it moved... right towards me. I turned on my heels, and sprinted faster than any human ever could into the woods. I forced my way through thick brush, and ducked into a knot in the tree. I waited there for a solid hour before moving again. I took a different path than normal, and soon enough found myself coming across the shack in the cornfield, where my clothing was neatly tucked away. I dressed myself, and took the long dirt road back to town. I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched. Little Totham was buzzing about the haunting in the woods, once again. I was intended to head home to my father, but instead decided to head to the baker's. There, Mr. Barkthorn was treating his daily customers. I struck conversation with his daughter, and found myself walking towards the pub. It was late afternoon when I arrived home. I hadn't made it halfway through the frame when my father's cane struck me across the face. "Dammit, boy, what is the problem with you," he yelled in his thick, Eastern European accent, "won't you ever learn to check in?!" I rubbed the sore on my face, and set to making supper. My father and I, we weren't necessarily bad off, but we certainly lived in no luxury. As we sat down at the table, he asked me a rather peculiar question. "So, lad, have you heard of the hunt for the haunting?" I nearly choked. "Wha-" I stuttered. He looked up from his plate. "They're hunting the werewolf. Which means you're dead unless you work something out." I started to ask why he wasn't saying "we," until it occurred to me. He was hunting too. The next day, I set out north, looking for a suitable place to transform. I came across an abandoned shack not far off the roads, and immediately began to prepare it to hold the beast. I stayed in an inn nearby for the next three days, as I prepared my own shackles. I didn't know it yet, but I would never use those shackles. Category:Fan Creations Category:Fan Stories Category:POTCO